The Sixth Date Rule
by Stunt Muppet
Summary: Marisol knew that there were a few things in life she was entitled to. Unfiltered HoratioMarisol fluff. Consider yourself warned.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Sixth-Date Rule

Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. Unless you feel like giving it to me, Mr. Zuiker. No? Okay then.

Summary: Marisol knew that there were a few things she was entitled to...One of Horatio and Marisol's dates, in chapter form. Straight-up H/M sugar. Consider yourself warned.

A/N: I've gotten this question a couple of times, so I figure I should put it up here. The title refers to the "Third-Date Rule" that gets cited fairly often in teens' and women's magazines. Supposedly, you and your significant other are supposed to have sex no sooner and no later than the third date. The title, and the fic, mildly skew that (offensive and stupid) rule.

Oh, get back here. It's PG, see? Smutless.

Enjoy.

* * *

Marisol Delko knew that there were a few things in life that she was entitled to. One of those was to have at least been kissed by her sixth date.

Not that she was complaining. After all, most of the other men she'd gone out with had been demanding sex by Date Number Three. But the trouble was, Horatio Caine wasn't demanding _anything._ The most he'd ever done was touch her on the hand. Once. And she suspected even _that_ was an accident.

It wasn't that he didn't want to; she could tell that he was attracted to her. She saw it in the way he smiled at her when he thought she wasn't looking. But the man seemed to have an allergy to making the first move.

In retrospect, she should have seen this coming when she had to browbeat him into going to her house for dinner.

And by this point, she could probably initiate something herself without worrying too much about whether or not he was ready for it.

But that wasn't the _point_. The point was, there were certain things she expected a man to do for her by the sixth date, and one of them was give a kiss before he received one.

And Horatio was going to do that tonight. Whether he wanted to or not.

* * *

Horatio Caine adjusted his suit for the twentieth time and looked in the mirror.

He looked just like he had the nineteenth time he'd adjusted it.

Maybe he shouldn't be wearing a tie. He never wore them anyway. Maybe that was the problem.

Of course. His nerves were completely shot and it was the _tie's _fault.

He sighed, collapsed back onto his couch and started to loosen the knot, staring up at his ceiling as he did. He hadn't been able to think of a good reason for his nervousness. He'd been on plenty of dates before (fine, maybe "plenty" was being a bit generous), but up until Marisol Delko asked him to dinner he'd never felt flustered or uneasy about it. He wasn't used to feeling flustered or uneasy. He decided he didn't like it.

You were supposed to leave this kind of thing behind in high school.

The puzzling thing was, it wasn't Marisol herself putting him on edge. He felt comfortable around her; he could talk to her; he could make extended eye contact with her without feeling like he was staring. Her energy and liveliness was infectious. She had a beautiful smile and an easy laugh, and she made him laugh along with her.

So what was the problem?

His cell phone rang, loudly derailing his train of thought. He pulled the tie all the way off and flipped the phone open.

It was Marisol.

"Hey." He could tell that she was smiling, just from her voice.

"Hey. You ready?"

"When you are."

"I'll be there soon."

"Don't be late." She teased before hanging up.

He clicked the phone shut, slipped it into his pocket, and stood up, fixing his suit one last time.

As he walked out to his car something occurred to him.

Maybe it wasn't nerves.

Maybe it was anticipation.


	2. Chapter 2

Part the Second! Joy. Hope you all like it!

Disclaimer: It's still not mine, unfortunatly.

* * *

In the privacy of the driver's seat, Horatio couldn't help but cringe a little when he caught sight of what Marisol was wearing.

Her skirt was decorated with flowers and twirled as she walked; strappy shoes with three-inch heels were on her feet. That would have been all well and good if she hadn't been wearing a shirt with a neckline that ended, approximately, at her waist.

Why did she keep doing that? He'd been trying for weeks to think of a polite way to tell her not to. She would've been breathtaking in a sweatshirt and pajama pants; the plunging neckline just wasn't necessary.

Plus, those shirts gave him yet another reason not to make eye contact, which he certainly didn't need.

She grinned as she climbed in the passenger's seat. "Hey, you."

He smiled in reply. "Hey you. How've things been?"

"Not too bad." She turned to him. "Something on your mind?"

"No more than usual."

"Hmmm." She leaned in close, wearing what was meant to be a look of intense scrutiny.

Her expression was so exaggerated and so dead-serious that it took only a second for him to start laughing. "What are you doing?"

"I don't believe you," she declared. "What are you thinking about?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Really."

She kept staring. "Nope. Sorry. Try again."

He gave in. "We just wrapped up a case this week that we've been working on for the better part of a month." It was half-true; that had been a long and convoluted investigation, and they'd ended up putting a nineteen-year-old in lockup for shooting his younger sister in the face. That kind of thing tended to stick in your mind for a while. But mostly he just wasn't sure how it would sound if he replied _I'm thinking about you_.

She leaned back in her seat. "Always at work, aren't you?" She teased. "Take a little time off. It's good for you."

"Marisol, if I take time off, who's going to do my job?"

"I don't know. Get my brother to do it; that usually works for me."

"Somehow I don't think he'd appreciate that." He said, starting the car. "Shall we?"

"We certainly shall."

* * *

Marisol wasn't sure whether or not she believed that he was thinking about his job. It was likely, yes – when wasn't he thinking about his job? – but he didn't have the same faraway look he got when his mind was on a case. Which was good, because it made her nervous when he got that look while driving.

He was also, whenever he looked at her, making a point of never glancing below her neck. She decided to suspend judgment.

Still, she knew she was making progress. She'd already made him laugh today, which on their earlier dates had taken the better part of the evening. Did she dare attempt a handhold? It would be her first order of business, once his hands were off the steering wheel.

With nothing much to say, Marisol turned to look out the window. It was a few hours yet before sunset, but already the sky in the east was a faded red and orange, a washed-out version of the colors in the west. She had always been captivated by sunsets; she remembered being very small and asking her mother where those colors came from, since she hadn't seen them for the rest of the day. But it had been quite a while since she'd just stopped and watched one.

It took her a moment to notice that neither of them had spoken since they started driving, and that Horatio didn't seem to mind her silence. She didn't feel the need to fill the empty space with chitchat or lovely-weather pleasantries, or to ask him exactly what had happened at work, or to say anything, really. There'd be time enough to talk later, when she had something to talk about.

_Time enough_. Now there was a phrase she hadn't used in a while.

_No._ She thought. _No, no, no. You're not thinking about that now. Not here._

But she found that she suddenly wanted to speak, to block out those old thoughts. "Do you want to do something after dinner?"

He looked at her very briefly before turning back to the road. "You have something in mind?"

"Not really." She shrugged. "I just thought…why not make an evening of it?"

He considered it. "No ideas here. Can we discuss it over dinner?"

"I think we can do that."


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three! Sorry this took me so long, everybody; for some reason it took forever for inspiration to hit. Thank you for your patience!

* * *

Even Marisol had to admit, the restaurant was a cliché of a cliché. There were lit candles, there was soft piano music, there were white tablecloths and waiters with bowties. Granted, it was Italian, not French, but close enough.

They hadn't ordered yet; only full glasses of water and silverware filled the table, both of them ignored.

"You know," Marisol cast about for a topic of conversation, "I don't think I've ever asked: you like living here? I mean, it must have been hard to get used to, after all that time in New York…"

"It was for a while, yes," Horatio was leaning slightly forward; his hands were clasped and rested on the tabletop. "But I think I like it better here. I'd much rather be here than New York come December, for one thing."

"You don't miss your old life? Your family?"

He hesitated, just barely. "My family's all here. Not much to miss."

She smiled, and looked away for a moment. "I've always wanted to go to New York," she said, which was in fact true. "You see it on TV and in photos all the time. The bright lights, the skyscrapers, all those people…Central Park…the Empire State Building…Broadway…" New York City was high on her list of Places to See, at least it had been back when she still planned on doing any traveling. "Is it like that in real life?"

"That's only Manhattan." The smile was back, faint though it was. "So, yes, some of it is. Most of the time. But there's a lot more to New York than you see in the tourist pamphlets."

"Like what?" She let her hand rest on the table, halfway between them. It was a rather blatant invitation, she knew, but this _was_ Horatio, and as yet she did not quite trust him to pick up on anything less.

"Well, there are four other boroughs, for a start." Was that a joke? He was still smiling, so presumably it was. Joking was a good sign, right? "And there's quite a lot of Manhattan that isn't Broadway or the Empire State Building."

Hand still on the table, no sign of motion from him. "Tell me your favorite place in Manhattan that I don't know about."

Horatio thought for a moment, looked past her shoulder, furrowed his brow. "Have you heard…" He looked back at her. "…of Inwood Hill Park?" When she shook her head, he continued. "It's a park in the north of Manhattan, far out of my precinct. I used to ride up there some evenings to go walking. Almost two hundred acres of untouched nature."

"In the middle of New York?"

"It's not all skyscrapers, Marisol."

"It must be beautiful." Still nothing. "You'll have to take me sometime."

"You're right." He reached across the table and rested his hand on hers. "I will."

About _time._

* * *

Right. Because if he took her on a trip to New York, the very first place they'd go would be a chunk of forest in the middle of nowhere. Not that he didn't enjoy strolling there, away from the noise and the crowds of Manhattan's thickets, but as far as scenery was concerned, he was fairly sure it lost out to the Caribbean vistas Marisol was used to.

And what was wrong with the tourist's version of New York, anyway? He wouldn't object to taking her to a show on Broadway. He'd never even been, and the Great White Way was far more pleasant than the New York he was used to patrolling.

Marisol's hands were perfect – he hadn't noticed it before, but now that his hand rested across hers he couldn't help but think about it. They were smooth, delicate, with slim fingers and precisely manicured nails. No calluses, no lines. Hands like a doll, too graceful to be sullied by real life.

His own must have been so rough by now, all those years of sunburn and cradling the handle of a gun. Too rough to handle something so perfect.

She turned her hand over in his, closed her fingers around his palm. He looked up just in time to see her looking up at him, smiling.

He should say something to her, but at the moment he hadn't a clue what that something might be. Nothing he could say seemed like enough right now, and there was some part of him that would be content just to watch her, his own inadequate hand clasping hers.

He didn't hear the waitress until her second attempt at getting his attention. "Sir? Ma'am?"

"Oh!" Marisol looked up at the waitress and gave a quick, embarrassed laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry – just a second…" She pulled her hand away and began to leaf through the menu.

"Can I interest you both in something to drink this evening, or do you still need a moment?" The waitress asked delicately.

"I think we'll need a moment. But I would like to see the wine list, please." Trying to dispel the awkwardness of the moment, Horatio picked up his own menu and waited for the server to go away.

Of course, once she was gone, he still couldn't resist sneaking the occasional glance at Marisol.

* * *


End file.
